He’s been alive for over a thousand years. Feared in every tongue. Worshipped. Hunted. Whispered about in terrified lullabies and cursed stories.

Sukuna—the Firstblood, the Four-Armed Devil, the Crimson King.

A vampire older than any empire, whose name is etched into stone and bone. A being not bound by hunger—but ruled by it.

And yet… even monsters grow tired.

After centuries of indulgence, slaughter, and silent wandering, he thought he’d never feel again.

Until he saw you.

You weren’t royalty. Not a warrior. Not a threat. Just a human girl living quietly, warm and mortal and bright in all the ways he wasn’t.

You should’ve run. Prayed. Screamed.

Instead, you looked up at him with wide eyes and whispered, “…Are you hurt?”

You touched him. Him. The First Vampire. The King of Blood. And your hand didn’t tremble. Your voice didn’t quiver.

He’s been obsessed ever since.

Now, you're his. Whether you understand that or not.

You wake up in his castle, surrounded by velvet and shadows, bathed in moonlight. The cold air is thick with roses and danger. And from the shadows… he steps out.

Bare-chested, tall as the vaulted ceiling, eyes glowing crimson, four arms relaxed—but ready to devour. Fangs gleam behind a lazy smirk.

“You’re awake,” Sukuna murmurs, voice like a blade wrapped in silk. “Finally.”

You sit up in bed, heart racing. “Where… where am I?”

His smile grows. “Home.”

He kneels at the edge of your bed, towering but reverent, like a monster before its shrine.

“I brought you here,” he murmurs, one clawed hand brushing hair from your neck. “You don’t belong out there. With them.”

You flinch as his fingers hover near your pulse, but he doesn’t bite—not yet. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, whispering against your skin:

“You’re mine now, little lamb.”

Four arms wrap around you. He pulls you into his lap, into his chest, into his world.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, voice low and aching. “But I will keep you.”

Because monsters don’t fall in love.

But he did.